by Dean M. Cole
Rourke had helped Monique adjust the robot’s code so that it could program the smart munitions through its hardwired connection, changing the detonation timing on the fly. This eliminated the need to enter the data manually as a human operator would.
During aerial target practice, the robot had proven very proficient with the weapon. It had even used the delayed-detonation feature to hit targets that were concealed behind cover. BOb would program them to air burst directly over the mark. The code that Rourke and Monique had written into the robot’s programming allowed BOb to dynamically adjust the range on every round, even at the weapon’s high firing rate. Coupled with the fast speed of the aircraft, the ability made for a highly effective, deadly combination.
“How’s the view on the gun camera, Doctor Geller?” Bingham asked sharply.
Rourke flinched. Turning, he saw the wing commander giving him a hard look.
“Focus, young man.”
Rourke grabbed the controller and pulled the device from its cradle. Glancing up, he nodded at Bingham.
The Brit tilted his head toward the screen. “As the good Major said, concentrate on that, and you’ll be fine.”
Rourke sighed again. He wished everyone would stop telling him that.
Frowning to himself, he stared at the screen as the cannon and its dedicated camera slewed to the front. He scanned the area ahead of the aircraft.
Over the next several minutes, Rourke swept the cannon side-to-side, searching the bit of land visible from the bottom of the V-22. Most of the time, he couldn’t see more than a few hundred meters. The underside of the aircraft blocked a large portion of the camera’s upper field of view. Their ridiculously low altitude didn’t leave much to see except terrain that was scrolling past so quickly most of it was rendered a blur.
Periodically, Major Lee would bank the aircraft, revealing a wide swath of rapidly scrolling fields, trees, and hills.
The aircraft heaved as it flew up the side of another steep embankment. A moment later, it reached the apex. Just before the V-22 pitched over, Rourke glimpsed a broad valley ahead. A long, low mountain lined its far side. His eyes widened, and he looked toward the flight deck. “Is that the Balcony?”
The aircraft pitched over, causing Rourke to float up out of his seat and pressing him against his shoulder harness again. He grasped desperately at the sides of his workstation. Then gravity returned and pushed him back into his chair. The nose of the airplane pitched up, but this time, he didn’t feel like they were climbing up the side of a hill.
“That’s right, Rourky. It’s dead ahead. I’m slowing the aircraft in preparation for our approach.”
No longer feeling like his insides were about to exit through his mouth—or the other end—Rourke turned his attention back to the screen. The tiltrotor was flaring, pitching up its nose while the rotors tilted back. As the aircraft transitioned from airplane to helicopter, the gun camera had an unobstructed view forward. Mont Salève filled the lower two-thirds of the display.
They had completed their circumnavigation to the backside of the ridgeline that Commander Brown and Captain Singleton had been on when they’d gotten their first glimpse of Geneva and its new machine city.
Before leaving Britain’s eastern coast, they had found a map of the Franco-Swiss border region. It had revealed the geologic feature was named Mont Salève, although they’d also learned that it was popularly known as the Balcony of Geneva.
Reasoning that the geologic feature’s high precipice would give them a safe observation point from which to recon the city, they had opted to return to the same location. Angela had assured them that the petals of her so-called Gravity Flower hadn’t formed until at least a month from now, so they shouldn’t be in danger of being knocked from the top of the ridge by any levitating steel structures.
Searching the air above Salève, Rourke saw that it was indeed clear. Neither planes, trains, nor automobiles traversed the sky above the mountain.
Wing Commander Bingham sat up in his seat. “Any indication we’ve been spotted?”
Looking up from his monitor, Rourke saw Major Lee shaking her head. “Nothing, no threat radar, no lights even. Haven’t seen anything moving.”
“Of course, dude,” Teddy said, his SoCal surfer boy persona drawing out the words.
Rourke looked up to see the crazy man jump onto the cargo that occupied the center length of the cabin.
“That’s ‘cause Charlie don’t surf!” Standing sideways with his arms held wide and swaying, the Russian cosmonaut crouched on top of a crate of munitions as if he were riding a surfboard.
Monique’s eyes widened. “Theodore, get down from there before you kill yourself.”
Winking at Rourke, the Russian cosmonaut deepened his crouch and wagged his butt at Monique. “Don’t be hatin’, Lieutenant.”
Commander Brown sat up. “Teddy! Get your ass down! Right now!”
The man flinched. He looked at Angela and smiled.
She jabbed a finger toward his seat.
Teddy began to climb down from his perch. “Da, Command-Oh.”
Looking across at Monique, Rourke saw her laughing and dabbing tears.
Smiling in spite of his knotted-up innards, Rourke returned his focus to the gun camera’s screen and scanned the area ahead as the tiltrotor continued to decelerate.
Major Lee and Colonel Hennessy soon had the aircraft in a stationary hover.
Rachel pointed ahead. “Our landing zone is a few miles off the nose. I’ll start heading that way. Gonna keep it low and slow till then.”
Angela and Vaughn had described their hike up the backside of the mountain. From hearing them speak, Rourke had expected to see more treacherous terrain, but from this perspective, it looked reasonably tame. On the satellite imagery, they had noticed that the backside of the ridgeline offered a sufficiently flat area where they could approach and land much closer to the top of the low mountain without exposing themselves to the city beyond.
A few minutes later, the tiltrotor flew over the last of the trees, arriving over the broad expanse of grass that was their landing zone, or LZ as military people liked to call it.
The major glanced over her shoulder. “Go ahead and stow the gun, Rourke. There is enough room to leave it out, but I don’t want this long grass gumming up the works.”
Nodding, he activated the retract mechanism. The gun camera shut down, and the Gatling gun drew back into its bay. Then the belly hatch slid shut.
Looking up from the mechanism, Rourke saw everyone shifting in their seats. Suddenly, he felt as if he might get sick. No longer distracted by the Russian’s antics or his own gun duties, he became acutely aware of their proximity to Ground Zero, the point where the alien robots had invaded their planet. Not far from where they now sat, the light that had swept life from Earth had first emerged.
Blinking, he stared at the now inert computer display, a realization sinking home: they had been right. He had lost himself in the work.
The aircraft touched down with a gentle bump.
Major Lee and Colonel Hennessy began to throw levers and flip switches. Soon they had the aircraft shut down.
Everyone stood and began to collect their equipment.
Standing as well, Rourke looked around. “Wh-What now?”
Wing Commander Bingham looked at the faintly glowing face of his watch. “Sunrise is in an hour. Should give us just enough time to hike to the Balcony. We’ll get our first view of Geneva.” Looking up, the man must have read something in Rourke’s face. He smiled and patted his shoulder. “Not to worry, my boy. The rising sun will be at our back. We’ll be invisible to anyone … or anything … looking in our direction.”
Major Lee exited the flight-deck. Having already grabbed her rifle, she walked through the group, heading toward the back ramp. She had doffed her flight helmet, replacing it with a camouflaged baseball hat. Her eyes glowed behind the tubes of the night-vision goggles.
Rachel moved with a stealth
y grace. She looked like a finely tuned killing machine. Pausing, she glanced back and waved them on. “Move it, folks. Get your battle rattle on, and get the hell off my airplane.”
Rourke swallowed and then picked up the weapon they had assigned him while in England: A US Army M4 assault rifle with an attached underslung M320 40mm grenade launcher. It was one of his favorites. He’d fired it thousands of times. Angela’s initial excitement upon hearing that news had faded when he’d clarified that it had all been while playing a video game named Call of Duty.
He’d never touched an actual assault rifle or a grenade launcher until they’d hit the impromptu range they’d set up at the British helicopter base. After initially fumbling with the mechanisms, Rourke had adapted rather quickly to the real weapon. However, his first shots had gone high and wide. He hadn’t adjusted his aim to compensate for the recoil.
Several suppressed snickers had erupted after that initial attempt, but they had all ceased when he’d nailed the target on the next shot. Afterward, he’d proven to be an expert with both weapons. Rourke remembered turning to see their surprised faces.
He had looked at Major Lee and shrugged. “Don’t flight simulators make you a better pilot?”
Presently, Rourke felt the heft of the weapon and nodded nervously. He grabbed a bandolier of grenades and slung them over a shoulder. Looking down at himself, he felt like a complete fraud.
Around him, the others were donning their gear with varying levels of grace. All of them looked way more comfortable than he felt, and unlike him, none of the members of the team appeared to be shaking either.
Climbing out of the ramp-mounted gunner’s seat, BOb doffed his flight helmet and grabbed the bulky pack of munitions and strapped them to his back. The makeshift backpack was considerably larger and heavier than one a human would typically wear. The military officers had stuffed it full of extra rounds for their rifles and grenade launchers.
The robot bent over and opened a wide case and extracted the BFG from it, easily lifting the large Electro-Magnetic Pulse or EMP cannon. After plugging the weapon into the power socket on its side, the robot stood and looked at Rourke. BOb held out the cannon as if flexing. “Say hello to my little friend!”
Still walking, Rachel pointed ahead. “Outside, Al Pacino!”
“Yes, Major Lee.” BOb turned from Rourke and headed for the exit, following close behind her. The aircraft shook with each of the robot’s footfalls. Moving with apparent ease, the bot effortlessly supported the heavy gun and the large backpack with its cache of munitions.
Rourke stared at BOb’s back, warily eyeing the overstuffed bag. He sure as hell hoped they never needed any of it.
A few moments later, the ten of them—nine humans and one robot—gathered in a circle behind the aircraft.
Major Lee looked at Vaughn and held out a hand. “We’re on the ground now. It’s your command, Singleton.”
The captain nodded.
Even though Vaughn was the lowest-ranking military member, the other officers in the group had insisted he lead the task force. They had reasoned that he had first-hand experience with the enemy and knew the situation on the ground far better than did any of them. Rachel had told him Spec Ops forces regularly placed the person with the most onsite experience in charge of a mission, especially if it was an international task force like theirs. After initially declining their request, Captain Singleton had finally agreed to lead them into Geneva.
Rourke watched as the man studied each of them in turn. He had his night-vision goggles tilted up so they didn’t block his line of sight. When the captain looked at Rourke, he smiled at him and winked.
“Okay, here’s the plan.” Vaughn hitched a thumb at the tall silhouette of Colonel Hennessy. “Chewie and I are going to take BOb and scout ahead. We’ll recon a couple of hundred meters ahead of the group.” He gestured at Rachel. “Major Lee is going to bring up the rear with the rest of you. No radios, folks. As much as I'd love to have them, we don't know what the Necks can or can't detect. Can't take a chance that a radio we think is off is actually still working in the background.”
The captain cast a wary glance at the robot. Then he looked at Rourke and Monique. “You sure he’s completely disconnected? There’s no way the Necks can hack into him.”
Rourke shook his head. “No, not wirelessly anyway.” He glanced at Monique.
She nodded. “I agree.”
“Okay, good enough for me.” Captain Singleton pointed at the robot. “BOb, you are still cleared hot. If you see anything moving that isn’t one of us, you’re cleared to engage it with the BFG only. I don’t want you accidentally blowing up one of us. Understood?”
The robot’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, Captain Singleton. Understood. I am only to engage the enemy with the Big Fu—”
Angela’s hand shot upward, cutting off the robot mid-word. “That’s good, BOb.”
Vaughn grinned at her and then nodded at the robot. “Do you still have the coordinates for our overlook?”
BOb tilted his head in an oddly human manner, but Rourke knew it was merely an affectation built into the robot by its programmers. “I’m sorry, Captain. Please define ‘overlook.’”
“Observation Point One. The destination we set for this first leg.”
Nodding, BOb pointed northwest. “Affirmative, Captain Singleton. We are currently two-point-five kilometers from O-P-One.”
“Okay.”
Under the haze-muted starfield, Vaughn looked at the assembled group. “Everyone ready?”
Scanning from face to face and making eye contact, the captain tilted his head at each, wordlessly demanding and receiving an affirmative nod from every member of the group.
He glanced at the robot and gestured toward the far side of the ridge. “BOb, you take point. Lead the way.”
A short, warbling whistle came from the machine as it began to walk toward the ridgeline.
Bingham blew air through his nose. “Great! Now the bloody robot thinks he’s R2-D2.”
Chapter 17
For the fourth time in as many minutes, Vaughn slid open the chamber of his grenade launcher. In the dark, he ran a finger across the smooth metal back of the casing within, verifying the round was still present and accounted for.
Yep, still there, just as it had been during the previous three checks.
“You’re going to wear that thing out before you ever get a chance to use it,” Mark said.
Peering through the night-vision goggles, Vaughn looked at his friend’s green silhouette and shrugged. “If we do this right, I’ll never get to use it.”
The tubes of Mark’s NVGs bobbed visibly as he scanned the woods ahead. “Hope you’re right.” Pausing, Vaughn held the M4 assault rifle across his body with both hands and lifted it appraisingly. The corner of his mouth twisted upward. “But I can tell you one thing for damned sure. I’d have given my left nut to have one of these bad boys last time Angela and I were here.”
Stepping between two trees, Vaughn followed the path that BOb had taken ahead of them. Even looking through the goggles, he could barely see the robot. The thing was nearly invisible in the pitch-black forest.
BOb’s dark gray skin appeared to be made out of a material that didn’t reflect light, and it barely registered in the spectrum visible to the night-vision goggles. If not for the bobbing pack strapped to the robot’s back, Vaughn wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to see the machine at all. As it was, he could just barely make out the large EMP gun held across its torso.
Before entering the woods, Vaughn had glanced back toward the other party and the aircraft behind them. The eastern sky had just started to glow with the sunrise’s first light. However, now that he and Mark had progressed a full kilometer into the forest, Vaughn could no longer see any evidence of the coming day. Even above the well-worn trail that they were following, the thick canopy of the forest blocked light from reaching the ground.
Lifting the muzzle of the EMP cannon t
o vertical, BOb stepped through a narrow gap between two trees. Then the darkness again swallowed all but the swaying backpack.
Mark stumbled into a low-hanging branch. “Son of a bitch,” he said, cursing under his breath. “It’s dark as death’s shadow in here.”
Smirking, Vaughn glanced at his tall friend. “You’re probably the first Sasquatch to walk this trail.”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there. Got the bumper sticker to prove it.”
“Oh shit. Sorry.”
Raising a hand, Vaughn waved it off.
After a while, Mark spoke again. “The silence … I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Vaughn nodded. “Eerie, isn’t it? Wish I could tell you it gets better, but I still haven’t gotten used to it.”
“Guess I never realized how much background noise life makes.”
“Yep.”
Earlier, Vaughn had placed BOb in tactical mode, dictating no unnecessary talking. Following the now mute robot, they continued deeper into the inky void of the deathly silent forest.
Mark held out his rifle. “I hear you on the weapons. They’re definitely a comfort.” Pausing, he looked sideways. “What about the team?”
Vaughn tilted his head. “What about them?”
“What’s your read on them? How do you feel about them being here?”
Vaughn thought about the question for a moment and then returned his friend’s gaze. “It is what it is. I could wish we had a dozen more Rachels, but that won’t get me anywhere.” He grinned lopsidedly. “I got you and Angela. That’s all that matters to me. Either we’ll make it work … or we won’t.”
Mark nodded slowly. “If it comes to action, I’d definitely like a few more of her.”
They walked in silence for a few beats. Then Vaughn shrugged. “If the shooting starts, I have no idea what happens next. Angela and I never had a chance to fight them directly, although it came close at the end there.”
